


in the morning

by palinodes



Series: scream in there [5]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Family Dynamics, Family Issues, Kid Fic, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Night Terrors, Not Beta Read, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22011106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palinodes/pseuds/palinodes
Summary: This is Michael and Alex's first Christmas back in Roswell since River was a baby. Isobel has gone ham with the decorating. River is four and his new powers are causing him to have debilitating nightmares. Michael and Alex are just doing their best. Max is trying and failing. Kyle is just happy to participate.
Relationships: Isabel Evans/Kyle Valenti, Max Evans/Liz Ortecho, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Series: scream in there [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1479869
Comments: 43
Kudos: 143





	1. december 22

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Milzilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milzilla/gifts).



> A late, late, late gift for [queersirius](https://queersirius.tumblr.com/). You rec things tirelessly and put so much work into it. I know it means a lot to people. Many moons ago you said you would like to see a fic of River's firsts and I really didn't deliver on that in a traditional sense (fuckin natch amiright?). This is the “first" Christmas that he will remember and there are some other firsts in there.
> 
> I also struggled with the idea that my "writing" is a "gift," but whatever. I think you understand the intention behind it. I am gonna stop babbling via the note field. 
> 
> Check the notes at the end of the chapter if you are sensitive about yelling.

Christmas and all the typical family traditions that come along with it have always underscored for Alex that he is fruit of a poison tree. A soft reminder by way of Hallmark films and radio shows and grade school parties that how and who he was begotten by was rotten all throughout, branch and root. 

Alex knows it is not a unique experience that Christmas has always carried a particular, boundless melancholy for him. As a child, it was never an event, but rather a stressor. A pressure cooker for his mother who always felt she could never do anything quite right. No matter how much they begged, their father never participated on the day, preferring to read the paper and spit tobacco. Mom would always end up crying in the bathroom. 

By the time Alex hit age five, his brothers took over doing all the decorating for her, to take the stress from her, to make her feel good. Greg ordered enough Chinese food to feed their small army and Flint would put Alex up on his shoulders so he could staple lights to the gutter. 

Alex always liked the blue icicles best. He thought they were pretty like Mom. Flint agreed. Though, it hardly mattered. His mother left a handful of Christmases later, anyway. Looking back, Alex is shocked she lasted as long as she did. It has taken a near decade of self-reflection to acknowledge that his mom tried. She did love him, at least somewhat. That is something. That is more than he spent years convinced that she didn't. 

Unsurprisingly, the holiday has always been downright and purposefully laid back for Michael, Alex, and River. It involved Indian food, sparse decorations, a few reasonable gifts, sleeping until noon, too much TV, and smothering cuddles. 

But, that was all about to change. This will be their first Christmas back in Roswell since River was a baby. The three of them are flying back into Albuquerque because to fly directly into Roswell was egregiously over-priced. Their layover in Denver is a little over two hours and has been surprisingly low stress and very nearly pleasant. 

Alex is purchasing much needed supplies to get them through this final leg of travel. Michael is sitting on the bench next to the kiosk, guarding Alex’s emergency crutch and their small carry-on. It is filled with five paperback books, meds, an extra sweater, their iPad, a water bottle, and River’s stuffed cat with eyes half the size of its cartoon head. He calls her Rawr. 

They were both bro’d out, with Michael in basketball shorts and boots and River in a mismatched sweatsuit. Their matching curls are wild today. Michael looking up at their son with a big smile, showing full teeth, holding him at his waist to keep him steady as he gesticulated wildly from his position balancing on his father’s thighs. That sweet smile turns into a grimace when River starts to hop excitedly, pointing at something outside of Alex’s field of vision. 

The seasoned airport cashier scans the Dramamine, Gatorade, and raisins. She jerks her head towards the bench and says, “You have a beautiful family.”

Alex agrees and hopes that with every bounce his kid is tiring himself out. River has deep, purple-greenish circles under his beautiful brown eyes that make Alex’s chest ache to see. He hasn’t been sleeping well for months and Alex is banking on him conking out on the plane. He is praying to a God he doesn’t believe in that his poor kid gets at least an hour of uninterrupted sleep on this flight and if he could will him to sleep on the three hour drive back to Roswell, he would. 

Hell, he wishes he could sleep on the flight and the drive, but he is so worked up about going back to their hometown. They have been back to town before but without the pressure of scheduled family events. He managed to avoid Max for nearly their entire group trip to Santa Fe two years ago. Having a toddler was such an easy excuse to get out of shit. He misses it. 

He is apprehensive about going back and having the forced interaction without a space to retreat to. He knows they are welcome in Isobel’s house, she is their kid’s godmother for fuck’s sake, Michael’s sister, and in many ways, Alex’s closest friend. But the uncertainty makes everything all the more bothersome. And because River isn’t sleeping, Michael and Alex aren’t really either. This leaves his once pristine ability to affect regulate wanting. 

His anxiety follows him through all the way onto the plane. 

The pilots guide them into the air smoothly. Alex tries to calm River down from the excitement of the take-off and the pressure building in his ears. He settles on telling the four year-old about when they drove the whole way home to Papa when he was a baby. All the way from Roswell to Boston, just the two of them.

River is meticulously chomping on raisins. His face is red and patchy from crying due a combination of fatigue and the uncomfortable ringing in his ears. He asks Alex if he was good. Ever since he started preschool in August, River has had a preoccupation with good behavior and the stickers that apparently should accompany such comportment. 

“So, so good. The best co-pilot ever.” River smiles at that, his eyelids drooping, heart and brain chasing sleep. “You know what co-pilot means?”

He shakes his head, so Alex explains that River helped guide him. How it was so cold and Daddy was worried, but River kept him focused. 

“ _You_ were worried?” Michael scoffs. He crosses his legs. His large boot pushing against River’s knees. He is flipping through a copy of the Dresden Files with disgust. “Mouse, when you write a best selling novel, remember that women are fully fledged characters, not just plot devices.” 

River offers a few confused blinks before turning back to Alex. “And I was a baby?”

“Yep. You were just a tiny baby.”

“Big now.”

“Yeah, lovey,” Alex mumbles, pressing a kiss to River’s hair. “You’re big now. Have a good nap.”

River eyes are already closed when he starts clutching Michael’s sleeve. “You’ll be here if I have a bad dream, right?”

“You got it,” Michael says seriously, shaking his son’s hold on him loose. He shoves the paperback into the seat pocket and shuts his eyes. He opens his arms to give River space to curl against Michael's well-worn thermal. “I’ll tell yah if I see a cool cloud.”

River is attempting to settle himself. So, seizing the opportunity, Alex reaches across him, caressing the silky, sensitive skin under Michael’s eyes. His eyelashes flutter for a few moments, before Michael opens his eyes. He has deep circles, too. Alex imagines that he is sporting some himself. 

When he asks Michael if he is nervous, he just nods stiffly, frowning with his eyes never leaving River’s tired face.

* * *

Michael grabs their over-sized duffel from baggage claim. Alex sits on the window sill and puts River’s hat and gloves on. The desert has a different kind of cold to the Northeast. The dry air bites and nights can be brutal. They don’t want to risk their son being more uncomfortable than he already is. He helpfully holds out his hands to assist Alex with sliding the pink gloves on and rubs his nose against Alex’s. 

Someone clears their throat above him. Alex looks up with mean eyes, holiday cheer be damned. He will body-slam any New Mexico brand bigot. They are the worst. Instead, he finds Michael offering a goofy smile at his consternation. His face morphs into something open and vulnerable. He cups Alex’s cheek, rubbing his thumb against the corner of his mouth until his protective frown softens. It doesn’t take very long. 

“It’s only me. Down, boy,” Michael says, his voice edged with ever present heat. He pushes Alex’s bangs out of his eyes. 

Alex rises from his seat slowly, making sure he has everything in the backpack. He tells Michael that Kyle just texted that he is here and that he remembered the car seat. Michael sags in relief and picks River up. He kisses River’s cheek a few times, then he slings their bag over his other shoulder. Alex offers to take one of them. Michael just winks at him. 

Alex kind of has to kiss him for that, forgetting momentarily that they were no longer in their safe academia bubble. He pulls back as soon as he begins. 

“We’re okay,” Michael whispers against his mouth, so quietly that he nearly only mouths it against his cheek. He gets why when River leans across Michael’s chest with a giddy smile and asks for a kiss, too. Michael smacks his lips against River’s with a dramatic ‘mwah.’ 

Michael praises him for being so polite on the plane. 

“Good enough for Santa?” 

“You’ve never been bad, Mouse. You got nothing to earn from anybody.”

River just wrinkles his nose and slams his head back down onto Michael’s shoulder. 

Heading towards the arrivals exit, Alex spots Kyle frowning at his phone. When he had called him last night, Kyle and Isobel were sniping at each other about candles. Alex has already accepted his fate as the holiday therapist/go-between for them. At least Max and Liz were in an “on” phase. Small blessings. 

He taps River on the shoulder and points to Kyle. Immediately, River is squirming and twisting to get out of Michael’s hold. He eventually relents and puts River down. The moment his feet hit the airport floor, he is off like a flash. He is yelling and giggling, tripping over his own feet. 

“Ky! Uncle Ky!”

Kyle looks up and his breaks out into a bright smile. His friend’s face has grown softer over the years. He is typically clean-shaven now. The bulk of his muscle mass is long gone. Kyle had decided after everything settled to be less focused on his glamour muscles and more preoccupied with speed. Alex thinks he looks the best he has in years. He looks rested. Isobel misses the eight pack, though. She makes that known. Kyle seems to be wearing a Santa sweater as penance. 

“Big man!” the doctor whoops, shoving his phone into his back pocket and meeting River half-way. Alex loves Boston and having their own space, but sometimes he misses Kyle so much he feels like he could burst. 

Alex watches as he squats down to wrap River in a bear hug, closing his eyes and spinning the small child around in his arms. 

Screw godmother status. If it ever comes to it, Kyle will give Isobel a run for her money when it comes to River. Or better, convince her that they should just do it together. 

But, man, if she wavers, he is sure Kyle’ll run her right down into the ground. 

Michael and Alex are both smiling as they make their way over to them, hearing River regale Kyle all about the snow they had gotten in Boston. Michael’s voice is full of surprise when he says, “We have a four year-old.”

Upon seeing his parents, River is back to playing shy. He demands for Kyle to put him down and immediately hides behind Michael’s leg. 

Kyle slaps Michael on the shoulder before he focuses on Alex. He kisses him full on the mouth and then each of Alex’s cheeks before holding his face in his hands, one gloved, one not. “You look so good, kid. You look real good.” 

He gives his friend a full body hug. Kyle laughs, patting his back with one hand and extending his other to Michael. “Guerin.”

“Thanks for coming all this way, man,” Michael says as they shake hands. 

“Forget about it. There is a Whole Foods here. What do you say, little man? You wanna go and get overpriced organic cookies.” 

Upon hearing the dreaded c-word, Alex spares a glance at his kid. River tugs at his coat sleeves and then Michael’s pant leg. He rocks on his heels and looks around the arrivals terminal innocently. “Cookies?” 

“No,” Alex chastises. He tightens his arms around Kyle one more time before he pulls away to turn to River. He puts his hands on his hips and repeats, “No. No cookies for lunch.”

“It’s Christmas, Daddy!”

“Yeah, Daddy. It’s _Christmas_ ,” Kyle fake whines.

“Christmas isn’t for three more days.” 

River pouts and holds his arms up for Alex to pick him up. Alex manages to hold his ground for a few beats before gathering his son into his arms. His left hip ain’t happy about it, but River is singing a self-constructed medley of Christmas songs under his breath while he delicately readjusts Alex’s beanie over is ears so that ‘Daddy will be warm.’ That kind of makes the slight twinge of pain worth it. Totally worth it, if Alex is honest with himself.

Michael tells him to just admit defeat. 

* * *

By the time they get to Isobel’s house, River has had four macaroons, a restless ninety minute nap on the drive, and is now bouncing off the walls. Michael got a good chunk of a sleep, though. Whilst River babbled and sang to himself and Rawr, Alex and Kyle had some dedicated time to catch up. He was pleased to find on the drive that Isobel and Kyle are not fighting and on the verge of another separation, but rather she was being a “Christmas Nazi.”

She had finally bought a new house after years of renting. After the great Noah debacle, she wanted to find the perfect place for her with the security system she wanted. Her event planning business had really taken off over the past couple of years. As a result, her new house is sacrilegiously large. The outside is classically decorated with twinkly lights and white-gold reindeer on the roof. The inside is big, warm, covered in Kyle's smelly gym socks and it kind of looks like—

“Iz, did all of Whoville throw up in here or what?” Michael asks, shoving his paw into the milk glass bowl by the door and popping a Jordan almond into his mouth. He cracks it with his back molars.

River looks around like he can’t believe his eyes. Jumping, squealing, and holding his stuffed cat up to see the Christmas explosion that he was in. Multi-color salt lamps on every flat surface, garland hanging from every shelf, and fake snow lining the window sills. Four trees as placed throughout the living room alone, three monochromatic on small tables and a floor to ceiling evergreen sits the corner by the fireplace. 

She had converted the downstairs office to a guest room and set up the adjoining mud room as a mini-room for River, complete with a huge stuffed giraffe and his own little tree, pink and yellow lights dangling from its branches.

He leaned against the door frame, smiling and watching Kyle try to balance River atop the huge stuffed animal. Michael and Isobel are hanging back in the hall. They are hugging for the tenth or so time. 

“This is too much,” Michael softly says. 

“No,” she says sternly, shoving him into the guest room. “It is just the right amount.”

River climbs down from his giraffe to follow Michael into the adjoining room. Alex hears him gasp and shout, “Daddy, yan-no. Play!”

There is a dusty keyboard in the guest room corner. He turns to Isobel to ask permission and finds Michael and Kyle looking at him expectantly. 

“Oh, alright.” He sits at the small, low seated bench and lifts River up to sit next to him. He shows him on what beats to hit the E flat. With River there to help him, Alex tickles the ivories with flourish and sings under his breath about being blessed with happiness. He reaches the end of the song and only then realizes that River has stopped playing along and is just staring up at him. Everyone is staring at him. 

Michael covers the small distance between them and falls to his knees behind him. He wraps his arms around Alex’s middle. Alex places his hands over Michael’s and give him a comforting squeeze. 

Kyle picks River up and tells them Max and Liz will be there soon.

“Maria?” Michael asks, though it is a bit muffled given his current position.

“Mimi has had a really solid stretch of lucid days. She is spending as much time with her as she can.”

“I’m so glad,” Alex says honestly. “Could she bring Mimi here?”

“I don’t think so. Change of environment could mess with her ability to orient,” Kyle explains before returning to the kitchen with River on his shoulders. “I gotta head into the hospital. I’ll see you tomorrow, my dude”

He takes his phone from his coat pocket and sends: ‘Heard about Mimi. So pleased for you both. Please give her a hug and a Merry Christmas from me.” 

Michael hooks his chin over Alex’s shoulder. He instructs Alex to tell Maria that he says hi. 

* * *

They all share a stilted, but friendly supper with Liz and Max. They’ve been back together for almost a full year. Their longest run to date. After their meal, they all settled in front of Isobel massive TV and play a few rounds of Mario Party. River entertains himself by drawing in a notebook on the floor and instructing Alex what moves to make. 

Isobel steals a third star from him. Alex laughs incredulously, putting his controller down on the coffee table. “Aw, shit. I’m done for.”

“Daddy’s done for!” River calls from his position next to Liz on the floor. “Shit! Daddy’s done for!”

That earns a laugh from everyone, even Alex.

“Okay, on that note,” Alex announces. “It’s bedtime for River.”

“No!” Liz and Michael crow. 

Alex schools in face and holds out his hand, which after a few pouts and whines, River takes. 

While Isobel and Liz share a glass of cava and Michael and Max have brotherly bonding time, Alex gives River a long bath. He pours the warm water over his son’s head. He gently massages the soap into his skin. He hopes that the soothing motions of the water and his fingers will calm River enough that he can sleep. That he can find rest in the thing that gives him the most anxiety. 

* * *

Michael is snoring as Alex lays awake, just waiting. 

He is going through his life, cataloging mistakes and victories. He does this most nights, starting at the first memory he has and running through until this moment of the present. Michael once told Alex that he had a head like a James Joyce novel. He makes it to age thirteen before River comes barreling into the room. His little socked feet skidding against the hardwood. Gripping the duvet with strong hands, he whimpers and scurries under, latching to Michael’s knees. Michael startles awake, unconsciously grasping River under his arms and pulling him on to his bare chest. 

The moment River’s power manifested, he began having visceral, near lucid dreams. Nightmares carrying echoes of the past that Michael, Max, and Isobel can’t recall, but River seems to hold the key. He had described to them over the past year scenes of being surrounded by stars and opening his mouth to scream with no noise coming out. Of shifting, indistinct faces. Of two purple crowns and abandoned thrones. He once spoke of space girls that trip through the overgrown pumpkin patches, thirsty for hemoglobin and salt-rich seeds. A general and a hoard of lycanthropy boys in business suits that kill rabbits.

It was Isobel that convinced the rest of them that they are a child’s dreams mixed with actual memory. Max is convinced it is nothing. Michael thinks they maybe were clones, that maybe back on their home planet maybe River was his brother. Alex believes there is something there, at least in part with the memories. River describes things that Alex has come across in translating Jim’s journals. Like granoliths and hybrids. 

A few minutes pass, Alex stays silent. Michael hums “Joy to the World” in an attempt to drown out River’s sobs and hiccups. 

“Papa,” he is wailing now. “Papa, papa.” Alex places what he hopes is a comforting touch on his son’s back. His fingers brush over the blue and pink stripes on his sleep shirt. River tenses at the contact. Alex jerks his hand back, trying to quell his devastation. River whispers, “Big noise. Big and scary. Daddywuzaway. Daddy was gone. There was a big bang and he was gone.” 

The wormhole again. He dreams of a war he should have no memory of. River often talks tunnels in space and dying stars. River cries out for the loss. His special boy weeps for the stars being gone for so long without us knowing.

Rarely, but what sticks in Alex’s mind the most, is when he will point at Michael and talk about wrath. The way their son speaks of his father as if he were a god of some sort. 

Michael shuffles, turning his body towards Alex and coaxing River to do the same. “Turn and look. Who’s that?”

River lifts his head from its resting place on Michael’s bare chest.

He feels physically sick looking at his son. At his hair matted to his head with sweat, his blood shot eyes. The way he hyperventilates before Michael asks him to breathe with him. When his breath evens back out he says his name for Alex like if the wrong being heard he would be ripped from them. He repeats himself, just as quiet and scared, “It’s daddy.”

Michael moves, his hair rustling against the pillow. He props himself up on his elbow, inching himself and River closer to Alex. “Yeah, he’s right there. What else do you see?”

“Blanket. P-pillow. Books.”

River is sobbing again, almost immediately. As if looking directly at Alex was too much for him. His little body is wracked with panic, he is shaken below the waist and rigid up to his hair line. Alex hears the faucet in the hall bathroom turn on and then off as he pleads with River to calm his body. A old-looking glass cup floats in through the doorway, teetering every couple of inches as it makes its way into Michael's limp hands. He takes the glass in his left and uses the other to pull River against him by the shirt. He tells him firmly that he must drink the water now. River is never one to argue with Michael, particularly after a nightmare. He is only met with a gentle smile from Michael when he tells him to wait. Before Alex can turn to get out of bed, a damp cloth falls onto his lap.

He lets out a choked laugh as he cups their son's face in his hands and does his best to clean off the tears, sweat, and snot. He bops River on the nose and tells him that he is all done. River still trembles. Alex kisses his newly cleaned nose and tells him that it is okay to be scared. River gives him a ghost of smile then before he lurches forward gives Alex's nose a kiss, too.

Alex tosses the washcloth into the hamper and falls back against his pillow. Watching as Michael presses the lip of the glass to the seam of River's mouth. He gratefully takes two large gulps. 

"Slow, Mouse, slow. There's a boy, good job." 

River finishes and Michael returns the cup to the bathroom cupboard, a steadier journey this time around.

For a moment, just second, the glow of the moon shines through the blinds and hits off that old yellow glass, covering the wall in a dancing, incandescent light. 

River tucks himself back between them and points at the wall, eyes wide and questioning, as if Alex could have possibly missed the magic that Michael and the sky provided for them. Alex grins and suggests that they try listing good, happy things. River nods frantically and clutches Alex's shirt collar and heaves himself onto his chest. He holds him steady there, hushes him and hugs him tight. 

“Daddy,” comes out of River mouth in a keening answer.

"Are you hurt, sweetheart? Or are you just still scared?"

River doesn't answer, just says his name. Alex makes a questioning noise and holds him tighter. 

Michael lays down next to them and stares blankly at the ceiling. His chest and stomach are rising and falling rapidly. “He is starting his list,” he says full volume, his voice cutting through the quiet tableau they had created. 

Alex smiles into the crown of his son's head, runs his hands down River’s back and rocking him like used to when he was small. He settles him back onto the mattress in the small space between Michael and himself. He murmurs a loving, sincere: “River.”

“Wow,” Michael draws out, popping his tongue like his work study students had taught him. The noise makes River smile slightly, but it makes Alex uneasy. Michael sounds listless and sad. 

“Papa!” River exclaims and snuggles back further into Michael’s side. 

“Thanks, Mouse. Music.”

“Dancing!”

“That’s a good one.” Michael grew silent quickly after that, choosing instead to massage River’s shoulders with one hand and cover his own face with the other. 

Alex and River went back and forth listing good things for awhile: clouds, stained glass windows, cookies, cake, Auntie Izzy, Uncle Ky, rainbows, whales, airplanes, school, giraffes, when the moon is real big, strawberries, Star Wars, drawing, Arturo’s pancakes, Lizzie, doggies, the Sun, soda, Miss. Ria, coloring, Paddington movies, juice, Rosie, waffles, cuddles, ducks and the pond, walking to work with Papa, wizards, magic, tall buildings, kisses, blocks, rockets, Christmas trees, dinosaurs, running real fast. 

“Kitty cats,” River lists with finality and one last big yawn. 

Instead of saying “sleep well, baby,” or some other fruitless thing with pressure attached to it like “good dreams,” Alex grasps for the only comforting notion he can come up with. Something that he perhaps wished he had heard as a child. He promises, “Papa and I will be right here, little love. Right here when you wake up.” 

After he tucks the blankets around River and settles the top sheet under his chin, he finds that Michael is still awake, too. Alex runs his fingertips along the quickly drying tear tracks on his husband’s face, tracing their path all the way on to his shoulder. The salt left in their wake chipping, forging little snowflakes of the body into the hollow Michael's cheeks. He tells him that they will talk about it in the morning. Michael just nods and squeezes his eyes shut as if willing reality away like a child would. 

Alex, knowing he is long from sleep, continues his cataloging. The Christmas before his mother left, Alex had bought an arrangement of baby’s breath and roses for her desk. The light green of the stems and faint pink of the petals seemed to add a necessary light to dark, small room that his father allowed her for her work. The smelled nice when they bloomed and when they wilted, they smelled of rot. 

Michael is next to him, smelling of the air just before lighting cracks. He is shaking like a butterfly flying against the wind. 

Alex thinks of the stories Mama read to him as he runs his fingers along the bridge of Michael’s nose, the cut of his bewitching jaw, his breath ghosting along his palm.

Please don’t ever go. I’ll eat you up. I love you, so. 


	2. december 23-24

Michael is a terror come the morning. He is slamming drawers and snarling. Alex doesn’t have a particularly high tolerance for such behavior on a good day. Their past and love for River is the flint and the wood. Being back in Roswell fucking New Mexico was a gallon of gasoline on the whole operation. And it is too much for Michael. Causing his nature of hardship and confrontation to rear its head. It makes Alex feel like a teenager again, in the most putrescent of ways. As if he is collapsing back down to that eighteen year-old kid who just wanted to play piano and for his boyfriend to stop self-destructing, for him to stop shouting. To cease acting like a lion in a cage. He had taped up too many bloody knuckles. He had seen enough ichor and broken glass for a lifetime.

Michael kicks at a cupboard door. 

Alex watches as the Christmas lights on the tree blink in a breakneck syncopation from his seat at the kitchen table. He swallows and tastes iron. 

Kyle is working a double today as a trade off to not be on call for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Isobel has one last Christmas party for a real estate company in Carlsbad. “Where is River?” Alex wonders, flinching when Michael slammed his mug down onto the counter.

“You can’t remember where your own kid is? He’s at the mall thing.”

The mall has a children's program for kids to buy or make gifts for their parents. Alex grits his teeth. “I knew he was out with Rosa and Liz, I just couldn’t remember where. Last time I talked to them they hadn't decided between that and bowling. You’re upset about River, I understand—Are _you_ four years old?”

Michael had turned on the garbage disposal as soon as Alex started talking. They are fighting in front of half a dozen plates of cookies and fake snow. In a fucked up way, it makes him calm. Michael is so certain that Alex isn’t going anywhere that he feels like he can act like a complete irrational brat. 

Michael flips it off and rests against the sink on his elbows. He is taking ragged breaths when he says, “He was talking about wrath again.”

Alex gets it. It is a scary thing to hear come out of anyone's mouth, let alone your own kid screaming it out into the night. “He probably just heard the word in a movie, it—”

“No,” Michael demands, pointing at himself. “Rath. Me.”

“I don’t—”

“R-a-t-h. Rath, I think it was my name on Antar. I think it’s me. Think about it. When he says 'Rath' he ain't talking about an action or reaction, he is talking about a force of nature. Rath does, Rath says. A living thing. He fucking points at me when he talks about him. Which begs the question, does he feel safe with me, or with my fucking ghost?”

“You’re his _father_.”

“I am his literal nightmare.” 

A wounded moan escapes Alex’s mouth before he could stop it. “That’s not true. That’s not true. That just isn’t true.”

Michael comes around the counter and drops into the seat across the table from him. “I meant that maybe I am triggering the nightmares. We should try me—”

There it is. 

Alex raises his head from his hands. He is wearing a mean look, tears of disbelief brimming in his eyes. “Are we a bit too much for you? Is that what this is? You lookin’ for a clean break, Guerin?”

Michael barks out a laugh before he sneers, “Nope. Sorry, that’s your thing.”

Alex just holds up his left hand, the rose gold band glinting like a brand. Disappointment is setting into his features, the anger quickly dissipating. “Nice vintage take down. Try another angle to hurt me. Even you know that was is pretty fucking stale.”

“I do not want to hurt you.”

“Then stop. You are almost forty and acting like—”

“ _I_ am _not_ almost _forty_ ,” Michael grinds out. His face is red, his eyes are wild, and Alex can’t stop the small giggle that bubbles up.

“Yes, we nearly are. We’re thirty-six.” 

Michael stomps his boot-clad foot. “It’s the opposite.”

“What?” Alex snaps.

“I’m not looking for a clean break.” Michael continues, desperate and nearly pleading with Alex to understand that it is a self-fulfilling prophecy. “I have something inside me, that has always been there. It wasn’t placed. It is me. The things I would do—I wouldn’t feel bad. Do you understand what I would do if someone stood in between me and the four of you. I would—” He laughs, a little helpless. “I would destroy an entire solar system. I think I already have. A lifetime ago. A thousand lifetimes ago. I don’t know. River starts talking and everything just melds together. The threat is unrelenting, we—” 

“You have to stop. You start and I am just gonna spin off and we’ll end up in a cave in Canada or something.”

“Maybe we should be in a cave in Canada! I don’t know what to do!”

Michael stands to fetch his jacket and wallet. Alex explains that the feelings he is having may be connected to Antar, but also that relentless protection is just part of having a family. 

“No, it’s not just protection. It’s possession. You are mine. It is an animal instinct,” Michael says, adamant and clean. He smooths down his jacket and flips the collar up. “And you have mercy, Alex. You are a merciful man. It is part of why I love you so much. I don’t bear the burden of such grace.” Michael smirks, helpless but free. He creeps slowly back towards him, steps languid and strong. “Genetically, I don’t. The ruthlessness, it is carved into my DNA.”

Michael leans down so they are face-to-face and gives Alex a filthy, all-consuming kiss, running his hands down his chest. Alex leans into it with such ferocity, an onlooker might think he was trying to crawl inside of the other man. Michael pulls back, placing a few gentle kisses along Alex’s neck before standing back up. 

“You’re husband is a confirmed war-mongering monster. Merry Christmas, baby.” 

He cradles Michael’s face and shakes his head sadly. He hasn’t done the fraction of evil that Alex has in his life. This is all so unfair. Were this even three years ago, he would be inconsolably worried. Chasing after him and trying to fix it. But, he knows from experience that Michael has to do this part on his own. Even more, Alex trusts him to come back. He is upset. He hurts for himself and for Michael, but he trusts him to come back when he is ready. 

“Look, I have to go and meet Katherine. I promised her. Then I have a few errands to run. Are we okay?”

Alex nods, but doesn’t say anything until Michael is half-way out the door. “He wants a cat.”

Michael’s shrug has a careless touch, but his eyes are erratic. “So, we get our mouse a cat. Lean right into the weird.”

* * *

Alex is getting some work done for his clients when there is a knock at the door. He opens it to find Maria. He feels uncomfortable inviting someone into a home that isn’t his, but he does it. It was fruitless, as she chooses to stay on the porch. 

She is still beautiful. She has had a little too much Botox trying to fight off evidence of aging, which he understands. That has always been her greatest fear. He gets it. If he lived with her phobia he would do whatever he could to stave off seeing it in the mirror. She looks good. She looks stunning and she looks unburdened. 

But, her winter coat. My god. It is an abortion. It’s a little reassuring that some things never change. 

She hands him two packages. “I have something fun for River and I know you don’t like to accumulate stuff. But, that’s really for Michael _and_ you. Okay?”

Alex inclines his head in understanding, fingering the bow atop the two small packages in his hands. “You’ll be here Christmas morning?”

Maria shakes her head, curls bouncing. 

“Boxing Day, then.”

“Why are you—”

“Michael is dying to see you. So am I. So, please come.”

She promises that she’ll make it if she can. 

He holds Maria in a loose hug for longer than is necessary. 

* * *

Alex has almost all of his to-do list done when River comes in the front door screaming about the Mall Santa. He launches himself out of Rosa’s arms and onto the floor. He crawls on his hands and knees to Alex who scoops him up into his arms. 

Tantrums are normal, but this isn’t like River’s usual fits at all. He turns to Liz, Rosa, and Max who have thrown themselves into the kitchen chairs. “What happened?”

Max looks between Liz and Rosa for a save before letting out an annoyed sigh. “We took him to see Santa and he freaked the fuck out and started floating a stool.” 

River howls that he is sorry. Max winces at a particularly high screech and Alex levels him with his eyes. “A stool?”

“A stool,” he confirms. 

“You have him inconsolable over a fuckin’ stool? That I am presuming no one else actually saw the floating?” he cups a hand over the ear that River doesn’t have pressed into his chest and hisses, “You are bully in an intellectual's clothing. You are such a—What is wrong with you?”

Liz huffs, the chair makes a horrid scraping noise as she pushes back from the table. “Well, you two lasted a whole twenty four hours, congratulations.” She hands Alex a shopping bag before she says, “I really am sorry about this. We did our best. Rosa, let’s go. I have to get you to work.”

Max looks ashamed. He tells Alex he tried to call Michael, but he knows he is in a place with bad signal.

Alex is just enraged. He takes a deep breath. He tells Max that he is going to go get River calmed down and then they are having a conversation. 

Liz shrugs. “That’s fair. I’ll come back for him.” She kisses them both on the cheek and slams the door behind her. 

He carries River into the guest room. He wets a small towel and sets to clean the snot and tear tracks off his face. River forces out through tears what he understands happened and with every detail Alex’s blood pressure rises. Alex wants to die, he just simply wants to _die_ as River sobs for Michael. "I need Papa. I need him. Papa." 

He tries calling Michael, but it goes straight to voicemail. 

He is cleaning River’s hands when he whispers, “Daddy, I h-h-had an accident. I got scared and I had an accident. I’m sorry.”

Alex closes his eyes and takes three deep breaths. He opens them and smiles calmly in the face of River’s embarrassed expression. He kisses the tip of his nose. “That’s okay. That happens. It happens to everyone. It’s okay.”

He cleans him up quickly. He puts him in fresh underwear and one of Michael’s running shirts. It hits just below River’s knees, but it seems to have helped. He hugs his stuffed cat to his chest and burrows into Michael's shirt and Alex’s pillow. 

“You comfy?” River nods, rubbing at his eyes with chubby fists. “Good. Try to just rest here. I will just be out there with your uncle, alright?” 

He gives River one more hug and then turns out the lights. He makes his way down the long hall. He hears two voices and finds Isobel is there, too. She is seated next to Max with a conflicted look on her face. 

“So, when you couldn’t get a hold of Michael and you called Isobel instead of me because?”

Max says he doesn’t have to justify himself. He was panicked. 

“Well, God bless us one and all,” Alex snipes, petty and brimming with rage. ”Explain. Explain how you making fucking **scene** over something no one else saw makes sense. Explain it to me in as few words as possible,” he bites out in a clipped tone. 

Instead of actually explaining the situation, Max says, “I’ve been looking into milestones for kids his age.”

Alex’s laugh is pithy. “Oh, of course you have. Please, I am clamoring to hear.” Max opens his mouth, but Alex isn’t quite finished. “I bet you have so you can pick apart every failure that you presume Michael has made. Four years on and you _still_ just _can't_ help yourself. Did you know that River can write his full name? That they tested him at almost a second grade reading level? Spare me your fucking 'parenting advice.' Putting an anxious kid like that on a stranger’s lap and expecting him to what? Fuck outta here, man.” 

Max’s mouth is twisted like he swallowed something sour. His brows are furrowed. Isobel is patting his shoulder when he says, “I may have made a mistake.” 

“A mistake that would not have been made if he took a modicum of interest in him. What four year-old likes meeting a mall Santa?” 

Max tells him most of them and that maybe River would be more equipped to such things if he did them regularly. Alex didn’t even know this was a tradition. He thought figured it was something that white people did sometimes. He knows he lacks in a perception of what are normal expectations for a family, but he just cannot hear it right now. Particularly not from Max. 

“How do you know what he does and doesn’t do? He lives in a major city. He takes the T. He handles public stress just fine. You don’t know the first goddamn fucking thing about that kid. That kind, smart kid. You have guilt about what _you did_ four years ago. Don’t take it out on him.”

Max barks out, “When would I get to know things about him? During the rotating one time a year you deign to allow me to spend any time with him?”

“When I deign to—“

“When it comes to controlling his powers, don’t you think we, as in all four of us, should have—”

“ _We_ aren’t doing _shit_. You and I are never doing a goddamn thing when it comes to him because you scared him so badly that he pissed himself.”

Alex clamps his mouth shut and hates himself immediately for revealing it. He hadn’t planned to. The last thing he wanted to do was add to River’s shame and he feels like he has done wrong by him. 

Isobel is rubbing at her temples, her festive waves are limp and falling into her face. She lets out a long groan. 

Max rears back like Alex physically hit him. “I didn’t—“

“You screamed at him. He said you dragged him into the car and you berated him. That was the first time anyone in the family has ever screamed at him. Punished him for nothing. He is scared and he is confused and he is...” Alex can hear his voice growing rough. He wills himself to get it together. "He is ashamed of himself and it is all your fault." 

Isobel tightens her hold on her brother’s arm. Alex can see her nails digging into him. Max sets his jaw. “I did yell. He has to understand that he can’t do that. He just can’t. It sucks, but he has to learn. I don’t like that I scared him, but he needs to be scared about this.” 

Alex pushes back from the table when he hears River calling for him. 

“You baby him. We can’t baby him about this. It is literally life and death." 

“Newsflash, you twit: he _is_ a baby. He is in preschool.” 

Michael is still out getting presents or fucking around with Sanders’ niece in the junkyard or whatever the hell he was doing. Alex didn’t care. He just wanted him here. He used to hate that. He shuts the bedroom door quietly behind him. He plasters a smile on his face and crawls on the bed with his baby, who is still whimpering for Michael.

Alex wishes he could join River in his weeping. 

* * *

While he is settling River down by reading him a story, Isobel comes in and sits on the edge of the bed. Alex finishes the story about a little grey squirrel who lived in a dollhouse and puts the book back in their bag. He turns around to find Isobel laying on the bed next to River. She is murmuring something to him that Alex can’t make out. Then she tells Alex that Max was acting that way because he was terrified. 

He just picks River up and asks if he can use her microwave. 

Isobel follows them down the hall as River yells over his shoulder to her, “Can we watch movies?”

“Of course!” She holds her arms out to him and Alex hands the child over. “Hey, can you come upstairs with me for a minute? I need your help picking out what pajamas to wear.” 

Alex steels himself and goes into the kitchen to make River some hot tea and milk. 

Max and Liz are hovering by the front door. Liz is wearing an elf hat with attached antenna and scowling. She is pointing in his direction. Subtlety has never been her strong suit. 

Max clomping over to him and heaves a deep sigh. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets and is rocking back and forth in place. They stand in silence for a few minutes before Max sighs again. He clears throat. 

Alex looks around to make sure that River isn’t in ear shot. 

“He is upstairs asking Iz about watching movies.”

“I know where my kid is, thank you.” 

“Look, we both love Michael and Isobel and Rosa and Liz. Isn’t that enough?”

Alex thinks of how his PTSD group leader back in Boston told them to just try to keep their heads down and get through the holiday. He clenches his jaw and tosses the washcloth into the sink. “I can work on it being enough, yeah. You _ever_ grab him like that again and we will have a problem.”

Frankly, how he managed to make it through this without simply punching Max Evans directly in his smug face is a testament to the power of love and therapy. Mostly therapy, though. 

“Understood. And for the record, I love River, too. And I do feel bad. Like I did something bad. And I actually love the kid, so that makes it worse. I know he is suffering and we all just want to figure out a way to make it stop. Liz says I’m not good at admitting I am wrong. But, I was wrong. And I mean it. I love him. He’s my nephew.” He says the last part low, like it was a secret. Like it was his most precious secret. 

Alex swallows and nods, once again shaking away the build up of tears in his throat, and holds his hand out. Max takes it in his. They don’t so much shake on it as grip each other’s wrists, but it is enough. 

* * *

They are a movie and a half in and down a bag and a half of Doritos when River finally falls asleep. He is snuggled up on Alex’s chest, his large shirt bunched up under his armpits, and Michael Caine is traveling around London with ghost muppets. River tosses and turns for a minute or two, until Alex is able to lull him. That ability is becoming more and more of a rarity. Alex gently scratches his son's sleep-warm back. He is already dreading having to wake him. He took his prosthetic off, thinking that Michael would be back by now. He supposes that if worse comes to worse he could leave him out on the couch to rest. But, then if he woke up from a nightmare and didn’t know where he was—

“Hey, Alexander. Turn your brain off. I can smell the smoke coming out of your ears.” Isobel is sat on the floor in front of them. She is leaning her back against the sofa, alternating between doing a leg lift and neatly placing a piece of a Christmas cookie into her mouth. River had chosen silk bottoms and a flannel top for her. 

“I was just thinking, Kyle said that maybe he is just having run of the mill, terrible nightmares. I don’t know which I’d prefer.”

He feels Isobel nodding against his thigh. 

“If it is just nightmares, I can’t take him to a therapist. He is too small. He doesn’t understand that we have to lie. He doesn’t get why we have to hid—I thought that if we were closer to the pods and you all that maybe it would get better. I’m so stupid.” 

“We’ll figure it out. Together.” 

“It’s just—I know no matter what Michael and I do, he will experience pain. He will hurt.” 

He knows that someway, somehow, it will happen. It’s so stupid being a parent. It’s illogical. To fight to protect them and know that you will fail. In some way, Alex will _fail_. Parenthood is a constant ache. It is endless, wrenching heartbreak.

His poor mother, he doesn’t know how she could stand it for as long as she did. 

But sometimes you get to hold them as they sleep in front of your best friend’s gaudy Christmas tree. Sometimes you get that. 

“You’re a good dad. A really fucking good dad.”

“Please don’t. Not right now.”

Isobel lurches backwards towards him from her spot on the floor. She awkwardly pats his cheek. “Okay, bb. Okay.” 

He has guilt for his sorrow because he has love in his life. Undeniable, at times overwhelming love. He made his own way. He made it out. He has won life’s lotto. 

He carries endless guilt for the sorrow in his warm bed.


	3. december 24-25

Alex wakes submersed in melancholy and frightened from a dream could sparsely remember, he reaches for Michael, seeking to press his back against his man’s side, but he finds the bed empty and warm. 

They slept through the night. He can’t remember when he fell asleep, desert sunsets being so early in the winter. Michael must have carried him. Moved both of them from the couch to the bed. Alex feels a confusing rush of anger, embarrassment, shame, and affection courses through him as he settles back down to sleep.

Suddenly, River is plopped against Alex’s front. He can feel River slamming his own face into the mattress and shaking his head. “Still sleepy,” he grumps.

“I know,” Michael says, tucking the blankets back around him. “I gotta run out for something, Mouse. I’ll be back soon, promise.”

“Papa?” He hears the creaking of Michael’s knees as he kneels back down. “You mad at me? I did b-bad. I’m bad.” 

He can tell by the way River is breathing that he has started to cry. It is a desperate fight in Alex to feign sleep and not intrude, but he manages. 

“C’mere, c’mere. Look at me. Listen to me. I am not angry with you. Not for that. You hear me, River? _Never_. You are not bad. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I had to do somethin’ for your aunt and uncle. I’m so sorry and I am not disappointed. Uncle Max is not mad. We can talk about it more when I get back, okay?” 

“‘Kay. Can you—” 

Michael hushes him and tells him that Daddy is still sleeping. River just whines and cuddles closer to Alex. He hears Michael walk out and walk back in as soon as he leaves. He nuzzles and presses a soft kiss to Alex’s eyelid. “Happy Christmas Eve, my darlin’. See you soon.” 

* * *

When he rouses again and checks his phone, he finds a litany of missed texts that is putting off checking and that only forty-five minutes have passed. He panics when he hears River’s sweet voice carrying through the house. But then he hears Kyle, because if Kyle is in any building you can hear him anywhere and that quells any brewing hyper-vigilance. He also can hear horrid, vapid radio Christmas music is playing. As far as he is concerned, if it isn’t Britney, Mariah, jazz, or for kids, Christmas music can kick rocks.

He doesn’t know who else is out there and doesn’t want to risk it. He makes himself presentable. He washes his hands and face, sprays himself with cologne. He takes his pills. He brushes his teeth, changes out of his sweats, and puts on his prosthetic. 

He makes his way to the kitchen and upon seeing only Kyle and Isobel, he regrets going to the trouble.

All three are sat at the table. Isobel is curling ribbon as Kyle devours a massive bowl of cereal The gingerbread house he finds River making isn’t so much a house as a multi-layer cookie sandwich with gumdrops on top of it. Also, his hair is a rat’s nest. He is still wearing Michael’s shirt and Spongebob pants that Kyle clearly dug out of their suitcase. Kyle grunts into his coffee in greeting as Isobel mumbles and offers a tired wave. 

“Morning, Daddy. Sleep good?” River asks in attempt to sound like the only grown-up in the room. 

Alex tries to hide his grin as he makes his way over to the table. “Good morning, River. I did sleep well, how about you?”

He bobs his head enthusiastically and gives Alex a happy smile. Alex returns it and kisses all three of them on the head before heading back into the kitchen. He clears his throat until Isobel looks up from her wrapping. She looks startled. “Oh, yeah. Duh. Go for it.”

He gets a clean washcloth from the kitchen drawer, wets it at the sink, and then plops it on River’s head.

Kyle is playing at listening intently to River prattle on about his school friends. “Jamal is my silly friend. And Kellee is my smart friend. And Ma-ha is my good friend.”

He mouths ‘Muhammad’ to Kyle who gives him a thumbs up in thanks. 

He sits down and starts brushing through River’s tresses with his fingers. The child whines as Alex gently works his fingers through the tangles. River and Kyle are taking turns sticking their tongues out at each other from across the table. He attempts at being casual and fails when he asks, “Where’s Michael?”

Kyle takes a big swig from his mug. “Crashdown. Broken heater. He said he texted you. He wanted to let you sleep.”

“I had really good dweams!” River shouts through a mouthful of snow white frosting.

“Oh my, God. River, have you even had breakfast? You can’t just eat frosting, you’ll get sick.”

“But, it’s Christmas, Daddy!” Isobel, Kyle, and River all crow in unison, which makes River laugh so hard he nearly falls out of his chair. 

Alex smiles despite himself. He groans out as he raises himself of the kitchen chair and heads for the fridge. He hopes he is masking the limp he is sporting due to his impromptu stay on the couch. “Isobel, can I use—”

“Stop asking to do things. Just do it. Mi casa es su casa.” 

While he prepares a quick breakfast for River, Alex sneaks a look at his phone. He finds that there is, in fact, a text from Michael. Multiple texts, actually. 

> **Michael** : i’m sorry about this morning. 
> 
> **Michael** : oh, god. iz is texting me. max means well. 
> 
> **Michael** : i’m so sorry that i am not there and i am tryin to get home as fast as i can.
> 
> **Michael** : iz texted again. max means well. i know he does. but i’m gonna kill him. i’m meeting him in a neutral place. i’ll let u kno if i need help burying a body. 
> 
> **Michael** : had to rush out this morning. arturo called, so i have dragons to slay and heaters to fix.
> 
> **Michael** : ilu
> 
> **Michael** : can’t wait to see you. 

He puts a piece of whole wheat bread in the toaster and reads the texts over and over again until the bread pops up. He is still blushing when types out: ‘I love you. Come home safe, brave knight.’ He is turning beet red when he tries typing out dirtier texts but he never feels confident enough to do it. He types out and immediately deletes three or four until he accidentally sends: 'I love you in me.'

> **Michael** : i love it too baby. 
> 
> **Michael** : you’re killin me btw. 

With the satisfaction that only a man that hadn’t ruined Christmas for his family could manage, he places the food on a plate decorated with elves in front of River with flourish. Though, he supposes that toasted bread with hummus and a small bowl of yogurt don’t scream holiday. Isobel just rolls her eyes, but River seems pleased to have some semblance of his routine back because he tucks into his familiar breakfast with vigor. He shimmies into Alex’s lap and holds a piece of crust up to his father’s mouth to share. He takes it, pops it in his mouth and then mock-eats River’s fingers. 

Kyle and Isobel are bickering over the logistics of some library event that Alex has no interest in, because his son is speaking. How could anyone have the balls to talk while his son is speaking? River quietly points out his gingerbread house and shows Alex all the ways he made it for him and Papa. That it was a special house for the three of them. A house with space for sleepovers and with marshmallow beds and big, big bookshelves. He said there was a robot maker for Michael and a built-in soda machine and a computer room just for Alex. 

He showers River’s recently untangled hair in kisses. River is humming to himself as he eats everything on his plate. Alex can’t help himself but to hold his son close to his chest and whisper to him, “You’re the sweetest boy in the whole world, you know that? And the smartest and the funniest. You did that house all by yourself, huh?” Alex rests his chin on River’s lovely smelling head. The combination of the scent of his honeyed hair and Michael’s running shirt make Alex sigh happily. “Papa and I are just so proud of you all the time. I’m so glad you had good dreams.”

“I did I have good dweams. I drew a picture and Aunt Izzy is gonna take me to the lie-berry.”

“Library,” Alex corrects gently. He helps him rip his toast into more manageable pieces. “She is?”

Isobel tells him as she is looking at her phone that there will be hot cocoa, coloring, other kids, story-time with a snow fairy, and absolutely no mall Santa. River is excited and asks if he can go and if Rosa can come, too. 

Alex has to tamper down his anxiety. He doesn’t want River to be nervous about group outings. If he is confident enough to go out again after a day like yesterday, who is Alex to tell him no. The kid rebounds like a rubber ball. This four year-old humbles him.

“Of course,” Alex says as Kyle takes out his phone and tells them he’ll call Rosa. 

Kyle was in the full Christmas spirit mode. He had worked the past three Christmas Eves and has been pulling doubles for months to get this stretch of time off. He looked genuinely excited to be going to the library. He turns the music off and parades River out of the room, the FaceTime ring brring. 

Alex calls after them, instructing River to go brush his teeth, choose his clothes and call him if he needs help.

“‘Kay, Daddy. Woah-sie, hi! Hi!”

The kitchen is stone quiet once they leave. Isobel is playing at being fascinated by signing Christmas cards. He and Michael have a cosmic connection, but on some level, he has one with Isobel, too. He washes the breakfast dishes and then gives her a look. “The library? Not exactly the high glam you are accustomed, too.”

“I told Michael I would score him a couple hours alone with you.” Alex raises both his eyebrows. Isobel is cleaning up the gingerbread mess now. Placing candy back into Tupperware and putting caps back on frosting. She snaps the lid shut. “Look, I am not thrilled about the accompanying visuals that my mind supplies, either.”

Primly, Alex asks her what else her mind supplies. 

Yet again, Isobel won’t meet his eye. He notices that her hands are shaking. He sits down next to her and holds his own out to her from across the table and she slots her palms against his eagerly. She has an elegant snowflake manicure. Elegant just like her. 

“I don’t know whether to thank you or grab my kid and get the fuck out of here. Tell you that you’ll never see him again due to the violation. Because that is what it is, Isobel. A violation. You know that better than anyone.”

She manages a jerky nod. “But, you wouldn’t do that,” Isobel affirms. She is holding on to his hands so tightly that it hurts. The tips of his fingers are flushing red.

“I couldn’t do it,” he admits. “Did—D-does Michael know?” 

She makes a pained noise, her eyes fixated on their joined fingers. “No. And I didn’t interlope. I promise. I swear. I just nudged him in the direction of Maria and him, and weirdly me, leading a dancing penguin family instead of that dark, weird shit. I just felt—I was wrong. I should have asked. I was just laying there last night and I thought I could help.”

He should be so angry, but he isn’t. He doesn’t have an ounce of anger, only indebtedness. Isobel is looking right in his eyes now. He pries one of his hands free and tucks a strand of her clean, perfumed hair behind her ear.

“I think it is okay, in the interim, for emergencies. He needed a good night’s sleep. So did we. Thank you. It was a good gift from a good friend. From a good and loving Auntie.”

Isobel confesses that did it because she loves him, but also because she felt helpless and she hates feeling helpless. Alex can empathize. He hears Kyle heavy gait coming down the stairs before he sees him. The pair of them separate to a socially comfortable distance just as their favorite male human comes around the corner with his face buried in his phone. “Rosa is totally game. Everything okay?”

“Of course,” she chirps. For a moment so brief that Alex barely feels it, Isobel presses her nose against his cool cheek. “Can I use _my_ _nephew_ in sponsored post? I have to have it up by four today.”

“Fine. But I don’t like it.”

“Acknowledged,” Isobel sing-songs, climbing the stairs to her bedroom. 

Kyle frowns when Alex shrugs, put he still pours himself another cup of coffee. They sit in blessed, companionable silence for a near ninety seconds before River screams that he needs help putting on his socks. 

* * *

They get River out of the door and into the car with little to no issues. Why is it that your kid is always better behaved for other people?

Isobel has left him with maddeningly specific instructions for cooking prep and made him swear up and down that he wouldn’t put anything in the oven. He is crushing hazelnuts when his phone dings. He launches himself across the kitchen for it, thinking it would be Michael. 

> **Max** : Glad we talked yesterday. I didn’t get to say thank you for letting Liz and I take River out for the afternoon. It really means a lot to us. He still likes Arthur, right?

He has made it through two exceedingly stressful days. Why is it that a simple, nice text from Max fuckin’ Evans is what makes him cry?

He wants to give River a real family, something he never had. He still texted with Greg on occasion. Flint and Wade were lost causes. It made him sad, but there was nothing to be done. He wished them well, but there was way too much damage. Just too much for all four of them.

But, he can fix it with Max for the rest of the family. He knows he can. 

> **Alex** : Yep. To be honest, if it is a cartoon talking animal, he probably likes it. See you tonight?
> 
> **Max** : Cool! And you bet. 

He finishes up Isobel’s list. Then he showers thoroughly. He washes his body with lavender soap that he keeps in his grandfather’s old traveling case and waits. Prepares himself quickly and clinically, he removes his prosthetic, and then folds laundry. He hopes for something. A broken syllable, a bitten lip, a moment to take in the fullness of Michael’s arms and thighs.

When Michael finally ( _finally)_ comes through the front door, Alex is at the kitchen table stuffing stockings. He still has his reading glasses on. Michael sees him and groans about having his very own sexy as fuck librarian. Dropping his jacket over an armchair, he marches towards the table.

“Michael, wait.”

He looks hurt as his stops mid-stride. Michael swallows and looks away. 

“I just wanted to say that—you are Rath. Probably. If this clone-ish theory is true and quite frankly, it holds water. And I am Jesse Manes’s son. And you’re also River’s father and Isobel’s brother and a scientist and Maria’s confidant. Can’t you take the good parts of Rath and embrace them and leave the rest? My father was a monster, but he also taught me to—I mean—Fuck, I’m not saying this right.”

“I think I get it. We make our own fate.” 

“Yeah,” Alex says letting out a sigh of relief. “And I really want—

“Me to put the good loving on you?”

Alex frowns, dropping his glasses onto the table. “Why am I attracted to you?”

Michael smirks, swaggering over to where Alex was seated. He takes Alex’s hand and places it over his rapidly filling, still clothed cock. Alex squeezes and pets just the way he knows Michael likes. Michael shudders and groans, causing Alex to smile wickedly. 

“Fuck, darlin’. I know the enlightened, grown-up thing to would be to finish this conversation, but can we do that later tonight? Because,” Michael cranes to see the clock, “we have at least an hour alone and I feel like we gotta seize the day here.” 

Alex heaves himself up and they slowly make their way to the guest room. They strip themselves of their clothing. Michael fetches the lube and throws himself ass first onto the bed. Alex rolls to him and tells him that he has already saved them some time. Michael grins and cages Alex’s hips in his hands.

“You prefer doin’ it without me?”

“No,” Alex answers honestly. “But, you know, limited time, seize the day. Doing it without you kind of makes me… sad, because I want you there.” Michael croons and kisses him sweetly. “But, you’re here now.”

“Yeah, we’re both right here. Yay, yay, yay,” Michael whispers in between peppering his cheeks with kisses. With a rough grunt, Michael slowly draws Alex onto his lap, cupping the swell of his bare ass. He fingers circle Alex’s hole. He chuckles darkly as Alex moans low and beatific. 

Pulling off his mouth with a soft pop, Alex cradles Michael’s jaw, running his thumb through his beard, “Scritchy.” He pushes Michael down on the bed and asks, breathless and flushed, if he wants to do something else. 

“Fuck naw. You puttin’ me to work, baby? That’s the good stuff.”

Any apprehension is gone when he looks at Michael spread out beneath him. His cock laid heavy on his belly, almost all the way up to his navel. For a moment, everything else melted away. There was only Michael and Alex was ravenous for him. Michael surged up, switching their position and hitching Alex’s legs over his shoulders and completes the loveliest of all things. 

Typically magniloquent Michael is so taken in the rhythm of their bodies that he could only offer simple assurances. “Loud as you want. Baby, it’s just me and you here. Just us.”

Alex’s sonorous man who compounds compounds, who disseminates bioconversion processes, kinetics, and his own reactor design. Who likes to fuck him sticky, sweet on his back and ask to do it again.

Alex allows himself to sink back in, striking out at their own Waltz of the Flower. Michael huffs above him, sweaty skin against sweaty skin. He empowers himself to be buried in avalanches made of rapture. Rapturous pleasure that only Michael could provide. 

* * *

He and Michael are curled up on Isobel’s porch bench, watching the swiftly darkening desert sky. Given the Christmas-brand of hell they had all been through in the last twenty-four hours, Alex couldn’t believe how carefree and relaxed everyone was. 

“Did you have an okay Christmas Eve? All things considered?”

“You kiddin’ me? I got a beautiful kid in a warm house with gifts under the tree, my sister is kicking ass and taking names. My brother is behaving himself. I just ate my weight in casseroles. And earlier today I came so hard with my dream boy it basically burst out m’ears. Yeah, I’m havin’ a pretty billboard holiday.” 

Alex whispers that Michael is his dream boy, too. 

A few moments of silence pass before River toddles out onto the porch. He is wearing comically large snow pants and one of Kyle’s many beanies. It falls down passed River’s nose half a dozen times before Alex can successfully coax him over. Michael folds the brim a few times and adjusts it on River’s little head. He shakes his head, a few spare curls popping out the back and when it doesn’t move, he looks at Michael with wonder, like he hung the moon. 

Michael clears his throat and points to his cheek expectantly. River smacks his lips against his stubbled cheek before Michael is hauling a happily screeching River onto their laps. “What’re you doin’ out here dressed for a blizzard, Mouse?” 

River babbles contentedly about how he and Uncle “Wax” are going to make a snowman.

“Oh, River, lovey, I don’t know if—”

Max comes out on the porch, ducking through the doorway. He has a Santa hat on. He looks right at River and asks, “You ready?”

Michael gives his brother a full side-eye. “Dumbass, there isn’t enough snow to make a—”

Alex leans back, clapping a hand over Michael’s mouth. “Have fun with Uncle Max.”

River climbs down from Michael's lap and waits. Max is just standing there clearly unsure of how to hold his body. River shrugs and then guides him out into the tiny front yard by the hand. 

The door creaks open again. Liz stumbles out in an alien onesie. She and Max had a little spat about her smoking up with Maria before she came to Isobel’s, but they seem to have rebounded fast. 

“Room for me?” Liz asks. She sandwiches herself between them and lays her head on Alex’s shoulder. They watch Max try and fail to instruct River through a controlled building of a snowman with barely two inches of snow. “God, he is terrible with kids.”

Michael howls in agreement. Alex laughs along before he sobers and tells them Max is trying. Tells them to just look at him and see how hard he is trying.

* * *

Alex wakes up to a scream. River catapults into bed and screams again. He is moving around at the foot of the bed. “Daddy, Papa! It’s Christmas!” 

While River is dancing, Michael is groaning. He announces that it is only 7am. Alex tells him to suck it up and grabs his crutch. He cleans River’s face and helps him brush his teeth. Thankfully, by then, Michael had made it to sitting up on the edge of the bed. 

Alex takes his meds and does his PT fast. River loves doing it with him, matching his moves. Michael blinks at them blearily and laments how and why the hell they are this energetic in the morning. 

It’s just them and Max and Isobel before they head to their parents for a late lunch. Though Alex loves them all, he is thankful for the lull. River has a modest, but fun batch of gifts. They had to limit Isobel to only buying him five. Even so, he still has no clue how they will get them back to Boston. 

River is so excited and Michael is clearly overwhelmed. Alex thinks its a mix of the bright colors and the warm room and being surrounded by people he knows are safe. Plus, his kid is having fun and is secure. It makes him emotional. 

Michael eventually unwraps Maria’s gift. Immediately, his eyes are welling for the umpteenth time this morning and his siblings both bellow out a heartfelt “booooooo.” 

Michael ignores them, turning the frame so Alex could see the photo inside it. It was of Michael and River on their first Christmas with him. It was taken in Kyle’s old apartment. Michael looked deliriously tired, but beaming and holding up giggling River on his lap. Michael had been just in his boxers, half-awake and River was wide-eyed in his hooded mouse onesie, complete with ears. 

“Aw, I remember her taking that,” Isobel says handing the photo back to Michael. 

Alex doesn’t. He went and hid in the bathroom until she left because he is an ass. He remembers coming out with River dressed up that morning, though. How he felt so proud of the mouse ears and the little tail. How Michael had burst into tears and Alex had been horrified that he had done something terribly wrong until Michael spent five solid minutes kissing them both. Every time Alex had moved to get up from the over-sized armchair Michael would whine and pull him back down. He still remembers Michael's exhausted whispers of: my baby, you’re here, you’re both right here. 

He looks at the photo and decides it is the greatest photo in the universe. 

“Who’s dat?” River asks, crawling up onto the recliner with his father. Michael taps him on the chest. “Dat’s me?”

“Yep. When you were a baby. That’s me and you, Mouse. Me and you.”

“I’m a mouse baby! Why do you look sad?”

“Not sad. Happy. I was crying because I was happy.” 

He reminds River that he used to be in school like him, so he had to stay behind at home for a few days to do his homework. He says that Alex and River got to Boston and then had to turn back around because Uncle Ky had to give River and Daddy a check-up. They also wanted to spend Christmas with the family. Michael talks about how they only had two weeks together at home and how Papa was sad. That Papa was scared to be separated only for a few days because River was so little. “I just wanted to be with my mouse all the time.”

It was a weird time then, coming back so soon. Alex had been so worried that this was a trap. Terrified, even. As a result, he behaved like a feral wolf mother. Truly, he nearly bit Liz. She still brings it up during trivial disagreements. ("Oh, really? Remember that time you tried to literally _bite_ me?")

But it all worked out, that chubby-cheeked baby is now a chubby-cheeked little boy. Healthy and well-fed and loved and just across the room from him.

“You’re crying.” River is pointing to Michael’s face in the photo.

“Because I was so happy to see you both. So stoked.” 

“S-sometimes,” River says excitedly, wriggling happily in Michael’s lap. “I think about you and Daddy and Izzie and Uncle Wax and my insides feel like sunshine. Why are you crying, Papa?” 

Max makes himself busy and tries to hide that he is wiping under his own eyes. He hands Alex a small box. Michael tells him it is from him. 

Inside he finds a necklace, intricately designed with what looked like a mashing of a Cherokee and Antarian symbol. It is engraved with their and River’s initials on the back. It's subtle and his style. The chain is long enough that he can hide it under a shirt if he wants. When it moves it in light he can see that there is a tiny drop of the console in it. Michael grumbles that he made it from melting down the original strings from the guitar Alex gave him in ‘08. 

“You made this in three days?”

“Nah, I’ve been workin’ on it since… well, I’ve been working on it for awhile. You know, I figured, it's for you and the kid, y'know? 'Cause, like—”

“He started working on it that Christmas," Isobel interjects from her position on the floor helping River put his new slippers on. 

“Which Christmas?”

She points at the photograph of Michael and River. “That Christmas. I remember because he had this whole thing prepared to ask Max and I permission to use a bit of the ship parts, like we give a fuck.”

Alex goes to stand up from the floor too quickly, pointedly ignoring when River repeats the less savory word a handful of times. He trips up a bit, but Michael catches him with his mind and Alex finds he is more okay with than he usually is. He stumbles over to Michael and squeezes himself next to him on the small chair. He asks Michael to put it on for him. He does, brushing Alex’s hair off of his nape, latching the clasp, and brushing his lips against his hairline. 

Alex launches himself into Michael’s arms and kisses him full on the mouth. “I love it. I love you. I love it. I'm going to take really good care of it, I promise.” 

He gives Michael an envelope that contains a poem he wrote, a long-term plan to move back to New Mexico if that is what Michael wants, and a new wallet from a local Roswell tanner that he loves. Michael gets about half way through the poem before he is shoving his tongue down Alex’s throat. 

Isobel claps and River lets out giddy giggles that pull their attention. Max is shielding his eyes. 

River presents Isobel with a candy necklace and a picture he drew. He gives Max a bookmark that he had made himself. Then gives his parents the “World's Best Papa” mug and “World’s Best Dad” plaque he got for them at the mall. Isobel pulls a framed drawing from behind the tree. It’s a big drawing that River made of their family, their whole family: himself, Alex, Michael, Isobel, Kyle, Max, Liz, Rosa, Arturo, Maria, Mimi, Grandma Nora, and Fiona. 

Michael asks him who the brown circle with pointy ears at the bottom is. 

River tells them that is their kitty cat, Bear. Isobel and Max laugh. Michael favors Alex with a lopsided grin. “You are one smooth operator, Mouse.”

It’s Christmas. His kid made a snowman out of sand, grass, and snow in the desert yesterday. Literal aliens have shown him the greatest of human love. Every time he feels such elation, he theorizes that this will be the last time, so he makes a point to soak in his now sunshiny insides. 

But, Michael’s right. 

He should just lean into the weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last one.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. There is a description of a character yelling at a child in this story. I just want to be upfront about that in case that is something that may upset someone. I looked for a tag and there wasn't one. If I missed it, please let me know.  
> 2\. Lmao i just realized that 3 out of 4 parts of this godforsaken series involve an airport. I truly am a one trick pony.


End file.
